Genevieve
by shalom378
Summary: Boy meets girl. What's girl hiding? A bittersweet love story.


January 29. Sunday. Ten A.M.

The day we met.

It was a usual Sunday. I had been attending Open Arms Evangelical Church since I was twelve, and by the good grace of my parents had taken to the religion. There I was, age twenty-seven, running down the sidewalk to awaiting destiny. I was also late (no surprise there) and snuck into a back pew. The worship team had just stepped down, and the preacher ascended the stage stairs. Once situated, he brought out his thick, leather-bound Bible and began a story. The tale has faded with time, but certain odd details have failed to escape my memory. I remember smelling a delicious cherry-vanilla scent, a creak of the pew, and then I remember turning to my left. There you were. You smiled, nervously.

"Is this spot taken?"

I had the good sense to shake my head. Once you relaxed and started listening to the pastor, I snuck glances at you. Long, chocolate-brown hair, piercing indigo eyes, fuzzy black boots, a white winter blouse. Despite your youth, you seemed to hold an air of knowledge, as only many years of hard trial could cause. Throughout the sermon I took in all your features, and by the time the preacher released the congregation I felt like you were an old friend. You gathered up your purse and stood to leave, but then turned and extended a dainty hand. "Genevieve." I shook it. "Kegean." You nodded and left without another word. I found myself thinking about you constantly throughout the week- at the office, making dinner, lying in my bed at night staring at the ceiling. I wasn't late to church that Sunday. Sitting in the same back-row pew, I could barely contain my excitement when that fruit and cream smell wafted past me once again, and you took your place- this time a few inches closer to me. I racked up the nerve to talk to you at the coffee hour. Our conversation went something like this:

"Hi, Genevieve."

"Hello, Kegean."

"So… do you have any plans for Friday at three?"

"No. Caféier Café?"

"See you then."

I proceeded to walk on air the rest of the week. In my mind, it wasn't a date- I simply wanted to un-earth the secrecy surrounding… you- the fantastical girl. When Friday afternoon rolled around, I dressed in my soft jeans and a forest green tee, and efforted to tame the wild beast of my dirty blond hair. When I approached the quaint bistro, I found you sitting outside at a small two-person table. Your eyes were closed, and your face lighted by a genuine, if faint, smile. I sat down opposite you, taking in the serenity of your face. When you opened your eyes, you gave a startled jolt, then said, "You startled me! Coffee?" I consented, and over a cup of steaming espresso, your story began to unfold. Within an hour of comfortable conversing, I learned you loved echidnas, the ocean, and the wind in your hair. You liked the name Oliver, and you hated cold floors and the splattering of freckles across your nose and cheeks. And then I learned the most important thing of all.

You were dying.

You said this quietly, without any fanfare or warning, and my half-empty coffee cup clattered to the table, sloshing the brown liquid over my hands. You calmly took some tissues from your seemingly bottomless purse and mopped up the mess. Then you started to tenderly wipe each of my fingers, erasing the sticky brown fluid. When you were finished, I wrapped your hands in mine.

"Of what?"  
"Cancer."

"How long?"

"About a year."

I sat back in my chair, trying to keep my emotions to a minimum. What could I say that wasn't awkward or pitiful? You spoke instead.

"It's okay if we don't hang out anymore. I understand."

I leaned forward and took your hand again, making a decision that would change my life forever.

"I want to give you the best year of your life. Starting today."

We parted later that night, your arms carrying a stuffed echidna that I bought you, and my heart carrying giddy pleasure. That day started it all. I took you on walks to the park, to the beach to watch the sunrise and feel the wind whip your curly brown wig. When you became too sick to leave the hospital, I brought you the echidna and read you fairy tales. A year passed. Then two. The doctors said you were on a slope to recovery. And then, without fanfare or warning- you peacefully slipped away.

You're in a better place now. I'm happy for you. That knowledge slightly eases the boiling sadness inside my soul, an irreparable hole in my heart. But I know you wouldn't want me to grieve. So I won't. I'll remember _you_, Genevieve. Your smile and dimple and freckles and laugh. Your echidna keeps me company at night.

See you soon.

Kegean


End file.
